


The Peculiarities of Metempsychosis

by welzes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: In the afterlife, Somnus meets Nyx at a diner.





	1. Chapter 1

Somnus remembered him.

“So what’ll it be?”

Nyx Ulric, the Glaive who surrendered his life in exchange for power to save the future. That had been a lifetime ago. Now he was the man behind the counter at the local diner, working the graveyard shift and about to serve Somnus a light dinner at two o’clock in the morning.

Searching his eyes, Somnus saw no glint of recognition. Even if he were to recall their past, he had never met Somnus Lucis Caelum—only the Mystic, whose voice had been obscured by the ethereal mask concealing a face with great likeness to King Regis’ son.

Nyx turned his head slightly. “Not going to order anything?”

Somnus straightened. He had a habit, he knew, of going silent and seemingly staring off into space when his recollections of the past got the better of him. But he’d come here to fill his empty stomach after a long night of work, not to reminisce about another life. So long as Nyx didn’t recognize him, he could eat in peace and leave.

“The breakfast special,” he said, returning the menu.

“Anything to drink?”

“Just water.”

Nyx had gathered the ingredients and started on cooking them when he said, “We don’t see a lot of folks around this time.”

“It was a late night at the firm.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

There were a couple reasons for ordering the breakfast item. Somnus had never been a very big eater: Whereas others would gorge under the chokehold of stress, food would taste as ash in his mouth. Secondly, he was tired and in no shape to be entertaining the company of a ghost from the past. His silence would answer for him.

Nyx glanced over his shoulder. “That explains the suit.”

If he had to be honest, Somnus preferred lightweight robes over stiff suits.

Having nothing of value to contribute toward the one-sided conversation, he lowered his gaze to his hands on the counter and studied his left cuff. He didn’t care to talk about his work. He didn’t care to talk about himself at all. His superiors at the firm called him an exceptional orator before the audience, but his peers by the water cooler described him as a standoffish fellow. It was difficult to chat with him, and he just didn’t care to change that.

The sound of sizzling eggs and sausage links filled the silence between Somnus and Nyx, who carried on with all the practiced grace of someone who’d been working in the same diner for years. Before long, the plate—arranged to resemble a wobbly smile with eggs for eyes and bacon for lips—was placed in front of Somnus, who nodded his thanks.

He'd just finished the eggs when Nyx leaned against the counter and something lit up in his periphery. Somnus’ eyes flitted to the side, where a ball of fire was dancing on the palm of Nyx’s hand.

Peculiar was the parallel realm that housed the souls of those who’d crossed over from Eos. Back there, magic had been the privilege and responsibility of House Caelum. Here, there had been no such thing as magic—not until the first person to emerge from a near-death experience had walked away with newfound powers, the likes of which had never been seen before.

It appeared that Nyx had been gifted with the magic of fire for surviving such an ordeal. Somnus supposed it was more manageable than a bolt of lightning. He also understood that Nyx was putting on a show to keep them both entertained through their stilted encounter.

Some twenty years ago, this fiery spectacle would have been unthinkable. _ How times have changed_, Somnus thought as he turned back to his plate while Nyx juggled the ball of fire.

“You don’t look surprised,” said Nyx. “I take it this isn’t your first time seeing someone play with fire.”

It was, in fact, his first time seeing someone play with divine fire in this life.

Somnus chewed and swallowed before answering: “No.”

Nyx fell quiet. A glance in his direction yielded an expression of schooled neutrality. With a faint crease in his brow and pursed lips, he seemed to be cogitating. Neither of them said anything after that.

Finishing his meal, Somnus paid his bill and was halfway out the door when Nyx piped up from the other side of the counter.

“That wasn’t your courtesy light, was it?” Somnus froze. “I didn’t see you reach for the switch when you were in your car.”

The cold evening breeze swept through the doorway, tangling with the still warmth of the diner interior. Somnus stepped past the threshold. The diner door swung closed behind him with a chime, and he drove out of the parking lot without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

When he was young—the exact age eluded him—he beheld Aera with the selfsame expression of curious awe as the day they had first met in their previous lives. The muscles in her face tightened and she beamed, giggling. He realized then that he’d said her name without her ever having introduced herself.

She didn’t know his name, of course. She never asked.

As if possessed by a strange fascination, she tailed him from one corner of the daycare to the next. Each time she latched onto his arm, he gave her an ambivalent look before shrugging out of her grasp. And every time, she pouted but did it all over again until it was time for her to go. Gathered in the loving arms of her guardian, she reached out in his direction and whined until the door closed behind her.

Several hours later, he sat in the car and wept as children under stress were wont to. But for a boy who rarely shed tears even as an infant, the quiet commotion was enough to have him pulled from the daycare and deposited into the arms of a nanny.

Aera had been the first of many. From that day onward, Somnus had developed an incurable fear of the darkness.  
  


* * *

  
Over the years, he encountered countless familiar individuals. He saw in the streets the faces of his people and their enemies, none of whom batted an eyelid when he passed them. It didn’t always, however, play out as such; on this particular day, someone cuffed him lightly on the shoulder before hopping around to cut him off at an intersection.

“Hey, sorry! But I was wondering if, you know, you’d be up for a photo? I’m taking candid shots of the city and you look like just the man I need for something different.”

This close, Somnus could count the freckles on Prompto Argentum’s youthful face.

“I have somewhere to be,” he said.

“It’ll only take a second! I-if you don’t mind, that is,” pleaded Prompto.

Somnus ducked his head and moved past Prompto, who groaned in defeat. Behind him, even more familiar voices joined Prompto’s. He held onto his breath until he stood on the other side of the street some number of blocks away, well out of sight of the Chosen King’s Crownsguard.

The next day, he turned in his letter of resignation at the firm. When prompted for a reason, he stubbornly insisted that it was personal and offered no details. With little to pack and no one to say his goodbyes, he boarded a train to begin anew at another firm in another city.

Half a year later, he worked late into the night and ate at a diner manned by a familiar Glaive.  
  


* * *

  
“Wasn’t expecting to see you again. Breakfast special?”

Somnus slid onto the same stool he’d sat on that fateful day. He really didn't want to be here. But it had been another day of odd hours, and this was the only operating eatery on the way to his apartment from his work. He pushed the proffered menu back to Nyx, whose faintly arched eyebrows betrayed his sincere surprise, and nodded once.

Late dinner (or early breakfast, as it were; he didn’t eat in the morning) was soon served, and Somnus opted to eat in silence while Nyx played with fire. This time around, music was playing from the old jukebox in the corner in a style reminiscent to that of a Galadhian folk song. No matter. He would be gone as soon as he finished his meal.

There was tension—not from him, but radiating from the taut shoulders of Nyx, who glanced at him more than once.

“Listen,” he started, “it wasn’t my intention to put you on the spot.”

“There was no reason to loiter after paying for the food,” said Somnus.

“No reason,” echoed Nyx.

Somnus brought the bottle of water to his lips. “The firm is aware of what I am. I don’t hide what I have.”

“It’s not every day you run into another magic user, but I’ve never seen magic like yours. It was whiter than any fire . . . and it was pulsing. Almost looked alive.”

As far as Somnus was aware, the new realm had yet to study light magic beyond theorizing its existence. He jabbed the fork into a sausage link. And he wasn't keen in starting off that exploration.

“The same can be said for your fire,” he said, inserting the link into his mouth and motioning with his fork to the condensed ball of magic in Nyx’s hand.

He left the diner with the half-finished bottle of water in his possession. Once he was pulled up in his assigned parking space—spotless ever since he’d invested in a self-driving vehicle, the wonders of technology—he sat in his car and stared down at the bottle nestled innocuously in the cup holder.

He could have taken a small detour to eat at another diner. He should have, instead of succumbing to the siren call of a familiar presence. Resting his head on his hands atop the steering wheel, he exhaled.

For the umpteenth time, he closed his eyes and wished that he could forget. But that would have been far too merciful for the likes of him.


	3. Chapter 3

The people of Solheim had once paid tribute to the dead at a lake. In the murky abyss of one such body of water, the memory of this factoid came unbidden as he pulled ineffectually at the seat belt that kept him strapped to the sinking vehicle. Water rushed in and out of his ears, and he could hear the passengers around him struggling in vain to free themselves.

It hurt. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt and was dark all around him. Abject terror bubbled up with him even as another pair of hands scrambled around his to undo the broken buckle of his seat belt.

Someone screamed—a fragmented sound that was bound to never reach the surface.

The screams soon came to an end, as did the struggling; however, the rushing of water continued unabated, hammering away at his eardrums. Darkness crept into his vision around the edges, beckoning him to sleep as he began to see spots.

He remembered a warm light that parted the darkness, the familiar rush of magic as he phased passively through the seatbelt and roof of the car, and breaking through the lake surface with a soundless gasp. Somehow, he made it onto land.

After first responders arrived and took him to safety, he failed to supply the names of those who perished in the accident. Their faces and voices eluded him in that moment. All he could think about was the water, the dark, and the smiling face of a monster with an inky substance oozing from pitch black eyes.

“To think I’d get the pleasure of killing you myself!”

He started when the responder asked him again, “What’s your name?”

He stared blankly ahead. He had a name that wasn’t of House Caelum. At that moment, he couldn’t recall what that name might be.

If he’d died in that lake, he wondered instead, would he be in Eos or another realm now?  
  


* * *

  
Members of the firm drove over to their favored bar for a night of celebration. Although everyone was expected to buy their own drinks, their boss insisted that even alcohol tasted better in company. Somnus, for the lack of anything better to do, accompanied them, only to find Nyx sitting in a corner booth with Crowe Altius.

Murdered and left to rot in the middle of nowhere, that one had died an inglorious death. Her eyes were sharp, but not enough to give him more than a cursory once-over as he walked into the establishment.

Based on his experiences, familiar souls seemed to gravitate toward one another upon reincarnation. Consequently, he slipped when Nyx sauntered over to the counter his coworkers were occupying.

“Your friend will miss you if you stay here,” said Somnus.

“Friend?” Nyx glanced over his shoulder at Crowe, who shrugged, and eyed Somnus with a flicker of suspicion. “It’s just the two of us.”

Somnus looked down at his largely untouched glass of liquor. He was mistaken, he realized; Libertus Ostium was still in Eos. And he could ill blame the alcohol when he’d barely had any of it, lightweight though he may be.

Mindful of their surroundings, Nyx reached around Somnus’ shoulder. The gesture appeared amiable to all but Somnus, who felt the strength behind Nyx’s grip as he was led to the restroom. He heard a wolf whistle behind them while Crowe, most likely having commandeered his vacant seat, kept his coworkers busy to maintain the illusion of a friendly tumble.

The second the restroom door shut behind them, Nyx asked, “You hear them too, don’t you?”

“Them?”

“Going to keep playing dumb? I’m talking about them.” Nyx pointed to his left ear. “The voices that don’t belong to anyone here, saying things that don’t make sense.”

Somnus didn’t just hear them. When he closed his eyes, he could see them too—if he wasn’t lurching from the invasive memory of drowning and reaching for the nearest surface to steady himself. The idea that Nyx could be hearing the voices of the past troubled him so deeply that Somnus sidestepped to make for the door without a word. He'd just laid a hand on the knob when Nyx snatched him by the wrist.

“Man is a fool creature, clinging to his past and cowering from his future,” recited Nyx. “I’ve been watching you since you got here, and you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Such is the prerogative of mortals,” replied Somnus, saying more than he ought to (the alcohol must have loosened his tongue) as he tore his wrist out of Nyx’s grasp. “And I’m one of them.”

At last, after millennia of purgatorial immortality, he was mortal again. But he was a mortal cursed with memories well beyond his years and physical capacity for remembering, and it was frankly a miracle that he even managed to recall Nyx’s original identity. He was mortal again, yet he was still Somnus Lucis Caelum the Mystic and Founder King in a realm where Lucis did not exist.

His next attempt at exiting the restroom was foiled once again by Nyx, who seemed to battle with himself before saying in a familiarly weary voice, “Wait. Let's do this over.”

Somnus, despite himself, acceded.


	4. Chapter 4

When he’d been of House Caelum, he’d napped most of his leisure time away. After his coronation, that time had seen a drastic reduction; he’d rouse before his people and sleep after them, forgoing his pleasure catnaps. In this new realm beyond Eos, he hardly slept at all. Dark bags started to pull at his eyes from as early on as his formative years, and they worsened after the accident that took the lives of his family.

“The mind is an interesting thing,” his doctor told him. His young psyche sought to protect him by muddling his trauma; however, the process wasn’t perfect, and many of his childhood memories were affected. Moreover, the trauma couldn’t simply vanish and had surfaced anew as a fear of the dark, to which his doctor consoled that the monster hiding under his bed would not come out at night to hurt him.

He held his peace, knowing that he didn’t fear any monster loafing under his bed. His body may have been that of a child’s, but his mind had lived through too many lifetimes to be afraid of such tall tales. He wrung his small hands on his lap. No, what he feared was becoming that very monster.

Darkness was an insipid thing. It inspired the loss of control, induced madness in the best of men, and brought naught but pain. He remembered the thrum of darkness against his veins, driving him to swing his blade at his kin. He remembered how his mind hadn’t been his own. He remembered the grief and despair. He remembered—and he knew just how powerless he was before it.

Darkness was the face of his brother, a visit from whom he feared more than anything else in the new realm.

That night, he sat in the corner of his room with his arms wrapped around his legs and watched the door. With none but himself to play spectator, light pulsed off of him in waves. Only once exhaustion came knocking did he doze, allowing himself to be shrouded in the dark.  
  


* * *

  
Sat on a bench in the park, he stared down at a small slip of paper. It was the back of an old and torn receipt, on which Nyx had hastily scrawled his contact information.

“Call me,” Nyx had said to him. “Text me. Whatever you want to do as long as we can talk.”

How backwards, thought Somnus, to accuse him of clinging to the past when Nyx was so desperate to make sense of the old voices himself. He turned the paper over in his hand, perusing the faded transaction information for some item or another at the general store, when he heard a bark and a shout before something hard struck him on the head.

A yellow frisbee dropped onto his lap. There was another bark and suddenly a white dog was all but splayed out on him, giving his face a few eager licks. Somnus closed his eyes and ignored the frisbee, the dog, and the blooming pain on his forehead.

“Down, girl!” he heard the same voice from before shout again. The speaker was close, probably standing in front of him. “Hey, look, I’m so sorr—”

The dog withdrew just as a gasp sounded. Somnus opened his eyes and froze when he locked gazes with the Chosen King, whose face was slack from surprise. They shared an uncanny resemblance, after all. Even for Somnus, gazing upon Noctis’ face would have been much like looking into a mirror after loosening his expression and painting a modicum of kindness onto his cold veneer.

“It . . . , ” stammered Noctis. “It was . . . an accident.”

There was a whine and the dog—Somnus glanced at her and recognized her as one of the last Oracle’s Messengers—rubbed against the leg of Noctis, who gently admonished her. Seizing this opportunity, Somnus set the frisbee down on the bench and stood up. He’d managed to put about five yards between them before Noctis began his pursuit.

“Wait!” The dog was persistent for his attention, however, and Noctis muttered, “Not now, Pryna.”

Somnus stopped in his tracks. His heart hammered against his chest as he listened to Noctis’ approaching footfall on the pavement. Now face to face, the Chosen King’s voice cut straight through the deafening beating in his ears.

“Here. You forgot this,” said Noctis, holding Nyx’s receipt out to Somnus, who thought it should have stayed forgotten. “Wouldn’t want to leave a girl hanging. And . . . sorry again for hitting you. Is your head all right?”

His grandchild stood before him, hale and hearty, and all Somnus could feel was apprehension. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down a small lump.

Taking his silence as a half answer, Noctis nodded awkwardly to himself.

“Right. I’ll just be getting out of your way now.”

Noctis brushed past with Pryna trailing behind him. Just like that, the encounter came to an end.

His own words, spoken in a fit of madness on Eos, echoed in his mind: _ The end is nigh. _


	5. Chapter 5

“If you desire it, Somnus, you shall have my trust . . . and their decision.”

Aera’s voice started off strong and factual, the same as it would when she addressed the public as the Oracle.

“The Crystal has no will of its own; however, I have received the Draconian’s vision. In it, I saw a visage painted within the Crystal’s surface.”

She stopped; not because she was faltering, but because the weight of the gods’ decision was greater than any other for a mere mortal to bear. But Somnus, who had waited many despairing days for this moment, would not allow her hesitation any longer.

“Whose?” he pressed.

“The Crystal has no will,” she reiterated. “Therefore, the visage upon it was not that of the king who will lead this kingdom.” As she continued, it was with a slowness that highlighted the building tension in her shoulders. “It was the face of the man who will not be chosen—he whose soul will be lost to this world, consigned to a realm between life and death within the Crystal.”

Hidden in the shadows cast by the pillar, Somnus glanced over his shoulder. The tension in Aera’s shoulders had spread to her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. He knew then whose face she had seen on the Crystal.

“Ardyn Lucis Caelum.” The bearer of a terrible message, Aera bowed her head. Her voice trembled. “The Accursed.

“Now I speak before you as not the Oracle, but your sister-to-be. Help me, Somnus. Help me to help Ardyn.”

Somnus faced the wall once more, turning his back to Aera. As reticent as he was known to be, he was a wretched man who failed to keep himself from smiling. Ardyn’s fate in the Crystal meant that he—not his beloved brother—had been chosen to rule the kingdom. Elation and apprehension snaked around his core, and he agreed to her request.  
  


* * *

  
Somnus snapped back to reality and saw Nyx watching him with an expectant look.

“With me now?”

They were seated across from each other in the small employee lounge of the diner. Little by little, the details returned to Somnus. It was a little past midday, and Crowe was filling in at the front now that the initial rush for lunch had died down.

Ever since they started discussing the voices in Nyx’s head—conveniently skirting around the ones haunting Somnus, though not for the want of trying on Nyx’s part—they’d taken to private venues in consideration of Somnus’ episodes. For all that, Nyx continued to insist on their meetings like a man reluctant to voice his thirst for water.

By now, he knew better than to bring too much attention to Somnus’ faraway stares. Seamlessly, he resumed their discussion of the topic at hand with a small wave of his own.

“So about the Crown City, Insomnia—whose bright idea was that name?” he asked, cutting himself off in a moment of idle curiosity.

“The Crown City bore no name until the reign of the second king, who coined it as a tribute to his predecessor,” said Somnus.

“The Founder King was an insomniac?”

He had, in fact, been an insomniac in the days following his ascension. But that hadn’t been the reason for the Crown City’s symbolic naming.

“The kings and queens of Lucis were laid to rest upon their passing in body only. Their spirits did not rest until the prophecy was fulfilled.”

Nyx leaned back in his seat with the thoughtful set of his brow, probably finding the whole story to be ridiculous. He’d said as much a few times. In spite of this, he’d listen each time.

“You still haven’t told me where you fit into all of this,” said Nyx.

“We all had our parts. I played mine to the end,” replied Somnus.

“And me, mine.” Several beats passed before Nyx shifted to look at Somnus. “But I get the feeling that you’re still trying to play yours.”

Truthfully, Somnus knew no other way to be. The sins he’d committed in his past life weighed heavily on his heart. Without a clear purpose in this life, there was no distraction for the remorse that had closed in on him over the years, threatening to crush him from the inside. He had been small in Eos; he felt even smaller in this new realm, so much so that he could not locate himself within it.

In lieu of voicing these feeble thoughts, he said, “Your coworker should be in here.”

Crowe had thrown them knowing, pressed-lip looks in their direction in the recent past while abstaining from their meetings herself. Sometimes she made cheeky comments about their strange relationship, and Nyx returned those with a shake of his head; Somnus, on his end, held to his reticence and ignored her.

“You’ve mentioned that before,” said Nyx. “Unfortunately for you and me, she doesn’t hear or see a thing. Don’t know anyone else who can.”

He pictured his own face, but without the harsh lines of severity and with more of his brother’s warmth before the darkness had taken him. The kind face of the Chosen King, donning an expression of surprise, caused Somnus’ chest to tighten at Nyx’s words.


	6. Chapter 6

With the newborn kingdom in dire need of leadership, his coronation as king arrived before the ceremony to announce the next Oracle. Thus, when he donned the crown and put on the Ring, it was he who received a rare visitation from the Bladekeeper to accept his calling.

“Everything in this world is preordained. Man exists solely by the grace of the gods and cannot live without.”

It was the first and last time that Somnus heard the gods. The prophetic words of Bahamut, however, would haunt him for some two millennia.

In the beginning of those early years, Somnus sustained a variety of scars from using the Ring to suppress the Scourge. From the moment the first scar drew a series of jagged lines across his forearm like a spider’s web, he knew that relying upon the Crystal overmuch would lead to his early death. But considering the state of the country, he had little choice other than to overuse its awesome power.

Shouldering the weight that was once borne by his brother, he sat hunched on the throne with his right hand clasped over his left. The Ring burned where it encircled his finger, and it weighed heavier than the crown atop his head. Hidden in the shadows at his side, Gilgamesh stood ever vigilant.

On one sleepless night, Somnus said to Gilgamesh in his chamber, “The Ring may take my body and my soul. For the people . . . no, for the world, I’ll do what I must. No matter what it takes.”

Gilgamesh, in response, took scarred and trembling hands into his own. He swore to protect the king, who had vowed to protect the kingdom, and that this oath would remain for as long as there was a king to lead Lucis. Once the Scourge receded enough that the kingdom could sleep without fear of their neighbors, he left Somnus’ side to sequester himself in the distant halls where the True King’s Shield would rise.  
  


* * *

  
Gilgamesh’s eyes were devoid of recognition, but warm all the same as he watched his daughter and grandchildren while they cavorted in the playground sandbox. Beside him, separated by a stack of lunchboxes on the bench, sat Somnus, who had become something of a family friend—albeit with no small amount of reluctance—after providing assistance for car troubles on a dark night.

In light of Somnus’ supernatural intervention to get their vehicle back on track, they were discussing the discovery of magic. Despite the realm’s long history, magic was a phenomenon that had only surfaced in recent years; therefore, it was an understudied field with new findings at almost every turn imaginable. Gilgamesh, it seemed, was rather curious about its nature.

“Where did it come from, I wonder,” mused Gilgamesh.

Somnus had his theories. The Chosen King’s crossing over to this realm must have effected some sort of an echo of the Crystal’s power, he thought. Yet, if this were truly the case, how was any of them able to wield it? The sole condition known to society as of now was to turn away from death’s door. Was it the gods’ way of granting the ill-fated the strength to claim the future in a world beyond their reach? Just as Gilgamesh, Somnus could only wonder.

He started with a blink when Gilgamesh asked, “May I see your hand?”

They were seated under the shade of a large oak tree, obscured from sight with none interested in the goings-on of a pair of grown men. Still, Somnus hesitated before he lifted his right hand. The gentle glow of magic highlighted Gilgamesh’s profile, softening the curve of his small smile as he glanced in his family’s direction.

“Of those who possess this gift of magic, they say many things. What is it that you say?” asked Gilgamesh.

Somnus replied with the same question that had been dogging him for decades: “What am I meant to do with such a gift?”

“I believe the answer to that lies somewhere within you. After all, you are the source of this wondrous light.”

With one last pulsation, the same light faded and Somnus lowered his hand.

“I was not born with it,” he said.

“Or perhaps you were. Perhaps we all were, and the potential to draw it from our being can only be awakened by a few. Who can say?” Gilgamesh turned his head to hold Somnus’ gaze. “Young though you may be, time waits for no man. Take care, else you might dither until it is too late.”

“Too late?” echoed Somnus.

“No one has all the answers. With what time we have been given in this world, we should determine for ourselves what the events in our lives mean.”

Before long, it was time for the children to partake of their meal. Somnus rose to take his leave, glanced down at the lunchboxes on the bench, and thought twice of going just then. He brought the meals over to the merry family before parting ways. Gilgamesh thanked him for his company, and Somnus almost said the name of his sworn Shield in return.

He was stopped by the familiar lump in his throat. Giving a curt nod, he turned away and left with the sound of children’s laughter ringing behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Now and then when he closed his eyes, he would hear his brother, cold and cutting, amid the sea of voices that either applauded or rebuked him for all that he’d ever done: “All your excuses. Atone for your sins.”

The night before he encountered Prompto, he snapped his eyes open and threw the contents of his desk onto the floor of his study. The violent sweep of his arm pushed his personal laptop off with a crash—followed by the telltale crunch of fracturing glass—while stray documents fluttered in every direction. He hunched over the desk, paralyzed by remorse from a life past, and pulled at his hair from the roots.

Like the nights before it, he counted to ten before straightening. He rose from his seat, knelt down to pick up his fallen things, and resumed his work with a crack on the laptop screen, ignoring the moisture in his chronically dry eyes.  
  


* * *

  
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” asked Nyx, who clarified when Somnus canted his head to the side with an unchanging expression: “A king of Lucis.”

Nyx was watching him, gaze flitting up and down to gauge his response. Confronted with the truth upfront, Somnus nodded once. 

“Which one was you?”

“The one who granted you a chance,” said Somnus.

A thoughtful moment passed before Nyx’s eyes lit up in recognition. “The one who sentenced me to burn.”

“You were not the first.”

“And not the last.” Nyx paused, then straightened and shook his head. “No. No, the first wasn’t me. Been enjoying the new life, Founder King?”

Somnus folded his hands atop the diner table and looked out the window. There was yet to be a life that he enjoyed living, he thought. It was another late night, and the sky was as black as ink. All he could see was his reflection.

“I am no longer king. That life is behind us now,” he said, the words ringing hollow in his ears.

“In that case, how about we stop these meetings of ours?” asked Nyx.

Somnus hesitated before craning his neck to face Nyx, who regarded him without humor in his expression.

“Thanks to you, I found out all I needed and more about these voices in my head. I can ignore them on my good days. Understand them on my bad.” Nyx brought a hand to his ear for emphasis. “Your end of the bargain is over. Is there something that you’re expecting from me in return?”

Truthfully, he had expected demands for answers, followed by recompense for taking a heroic life in exchange for short-lived power. Man despised injustice by nature, particularly those visited upon himself. Punishment was thus owed to the perpetrator for bringing about that corruption in the first place. In retrospect, even resentment would have been expected.

Yet Nyx was neither cold nor warm. He simply was as he continued: “You’re free to stop by for breakfast anytime, but I’m not going to hold you to it. Do it if you’re hungry and want a bite. Don’t do it out of some kingly obligation, because I’m not the one in need of an intervention.” A wry smile teased at the corner of Nyx’s lips as he said Somnus’ title lightly, “There’s no Lucis here, Your Majesty. It’s just you, me, and a whole lot of other people who could use something to eat.”

After all that, Somnus could only drop his gaze and say, “No. I suppose there isn’t.”

There was no Lucis on this side of the world. There were familiar faces, but the lives they led now were different beyond the shadow of a doubt. Ordinary, unremarkable, and free-spirited, none was tethered to the chains of fate here. Somnus, too, was free in spite of the memories that rose from the shadows to pull him into the darkness when he dared to close his eyes.

“Then why are you still here?”

Perhaps it was time that they stopped meeting about the past, after all.  
  


* * *

  
In the end, it was nothing more than fate.

“Are you certain, Your Majesty?” stammered a councilor.

“The late Oracle left behind a distant kin; however, her successor is not fit to wield the trident in her stead for another score. In the meantime, I have received the word of the gods. It is their will that this story be told,” said Somnus.

The councilor continued to stammer and stutter, but otherwise did not offer a second protest. Too, the peerage who served the newfound Kingdom of Lucis held their collective tongue in the face of divine authority. Before them, the scribe’s hand trembled.

“So let it be written,” ordered Somnus, “so let it be done: the King joined hands with the Oracle to travel the world and dispel the darkness that plagued our star.”

His story, woven upon a quilt of lies, would not detail his enslavement to the gods or his flawed heart. Instead, it would survive to serve the Chosen King in the far future in order to bring House Caelum's calling to fruition. Only then would the world be saved; and his brother, allowed to rest in peace. Unto these texts, he would confer his hopes.

This was no end—only the beginning.


	8. Chapter 8

Strategy and tactics. Swordplay. Speech. Socialization. Salvation.

The more he studied, the harder he fell in a round of chess. The more he practiced, the greater his hands shook when his weapon was ripped out of them. The more he spoke, the longer he faced the people’s backs. The more he fought, the more he lost.

No matter how hard he tried, nothing changed. As the days wore on, the mortification of watching his brother and submersing himself in desperate prayer became too great. It was, he thought, as if the gods had forgotten that he existed.

At dawn, he stood before the Crystal, the tips of his fingers held a mere inch from its surface. With none to bear witness to his heresy, he spoke his final prayer in a low voice: “Gods above, long have I entreated you for a calling of my own, that I might go forth and save the people as you have bade our line.” He stared into the Crystal’s hollow depths, reflecting what he felt in his heart. “Not once have my prayers gone heard.”

His fingers curled into his palm as he retracted his hand. His beloved brother also sought to save the people, but that path would ensure that the country fell before it even had a chance to rise. He didn’t understand: why were the gods allowing this ill-thought-out quest to unfold? Did they care only about the lives hand-picked by their chosen, leaving the rest to drown in their despair?

He wanted to save the people, too. Yet when they wailed in grief before him, crying tears of black tar, he could do naught but put them out of their misery and ensure that their neighbors were safe in turn.

He set his teeth.

“I will beseech you no more. If the gods have abandoned me before granting me a chance, I will carve my own path. In order for this kingdom to sleep easily at night, I will fight.”

He would slay a hundred, thousand daemons if need be. For those who might yet be saved from the Scourge's reaches, he would cast his values to the north wind and not look back. The people might fear and revile him, but they would at least live to see the future. Somnus did not raise his head toward the heavenly realm, but down to the mortal realm where the people would one day thrive.

“House Caelum’s duty will be fulfilled. This, I swear.”  
  


* * *

  
The timing was poor. He was exiting the cafe when she entered with a sharp turn, resulting in an unavoidable collision. The fresh cup of coffee in his hand fell to the ground, staining the floor and their shoes, and they crouched down in unison.

Eyeing the droplets of coffee on her ankles, he fished a handkerchief out in apology and saw that her gloved hand had frozen halfway around the empty cup. Something else had caught her attention between then and now. He lifted his head to meet her appraising stare.

“You are . . . Somnus.” There was a glint in her eyes as she smiled. Her expression faltered when he didn’t reply. “I’m sorry. Was I mistaken?”

Accepting the handkerchief, she dabbed at her ankles while he retrieved the paper coffee cup and tossed it into the appropriate receptacle. He turned back to find that she had straightened and was now watching him again with a look of curiosity akin to that of a pup. She really had never been good at letting sleeping dogs lie.

“You remind me of a boy I knew from when I was a little girl,” she said, folding the handkerchief into a small square before returning it to him. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable—and your coffee! Please, let me buy you another one.”

Catching him by the elbow, she ushered him back into the cafe. The line was long, but she expressed no qualms about the wait. Standing at the end of the line, she peered overhead at the menu mounted on the far wall and asked after his original order. Unable to shrug her off like he had when they were children, he parroted what he had told the barista.

She was a boundless reserve of energy—never still, always shifting her weight this way and that with an unbridled sense of life. Her small smiles in spite of the coffee stains on the hem of her dress were sincere, and he frequently broke eye contact to look elsewhere.

Once it was at last their turn to order, she brooked no argument as to who should foot the modest bill. They left the cafe with a new pair of drinks when she hesitated. Her lips pressed and curled into a reluctant smile as she gave him a meaningful once-over. She said her goodbyes, then turned to continue down the street.

He watched her retreating back. Impossibly long five seconds passed before Somnus said, “Aera.”

Aera stopped. Slowly, she turned around to face him with wide eyes. When he held her gaze this time, she smiled widely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was something of a love letter to Somnus, who’s a true foil to Ardyn. One brother started off disillusioned with the gods and attempted to forge his own path, only to accept his fate when he learned that his will was never his. The other brother’s faith in the gods was unshakable until his rose-colored reality crumbled, at which point he rejected his fate and disavowed the gods. Although one chose to protect the future while the other chose to condemn it, the prophecy made monsters of them both and each brother suffered in his own way.
> 
> His side of the story was woefully unexplored, but Somnus already carries a great deal of nuance based on what’s been given. I could talk about his character all day! If only that wouldn't make this note longer than the entire fic (haha).
> 
> Thank you for the encouraging comments. This was a bizarre fic, but I’m very fond of it. If you have an idea for a story with Somnus you’d like to read, feel free to leave a comment and I’ll see what I can do.


End file.
